


Let's Survive

by tofansesmuna



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofansesmuna/pseuds/tofansesmuna
Summary: "Okay, so like, imagine Vladimir Putin....but with Sasha Velour eyebrows."





	1. Putin Eyebrows and Glassware

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first fic, guys, please don't crucify me.

“Okay, so like, imagine Vladimir Putin...but with Sasha Velour eyebrows.” Jeremy was laughing before Michael even finished the sentence. His head was still in between his knees a minute later as his back shook with laughter, before his head swung up with a look of serious befuddlement. “Wait," he said, squinting at Michael, “Who’s Sasha Velour?” Michael barked out a laugh and proceeded to throw a pillow at him. Jeremy caught it in the face with a sound like ‘boof,’ and immediately started hugging it. 

“Dude, you were laughing your balls off and you didn’t even know who I was talking about? What was so funny?” Jeremy’s face was currently half squished in the throw pillow, which had an artsy picture of a dog with sunglasses on it. 

Michael’s mom had picked it out herself in the clearance bins of Home Etc. while dragging Michael and his two little cousins along on a Saturday morning shopping trip. “Watch them, Michael,” she had said while pushing the cart towards the glassware section. Leaving him alone with two six year olds who looked up at him briefly before walking in opposite directions. Now, if you think that for Michael this is fine, it’s okay; being left in charge of small children in a home decor store with a plethora of shiny, expensive, and very breakable objects is a fun time, you would be slightly off the mark. If you revised your thoughts to say that Michael wanted to take one of those shiny, breakable objects and smash it over his head, you’d be absolutely goddamn fucking right.

Five minutes of trying to wrangle the twins into the same 20 ft vicinity, and the resulting crash of decorative vases and glass coffee table boxes against linoleum had his mom abandoning the cart and yelling, “Ano ang sheol?!” at the scene of two tiny kids and one dead man walking amongst a sea of shattered glass and vintage style clocks. 

Long story short, his angry filipino mother ended up paying for over $500 worth of glassware, and Michael had his Play Station taken away for a month. Nice pillow, though.

The same one Jeremy was now wrapped around like a viper, with his nose buried in the top as he glared at Michael. “Mwel...boo wed boodin…” Jeremy spoke directly into the pillow. Michael laughed. “Bro, I can’t hear a word you’re saying.” He noticed the way Jeremy’s nose crinkled as his face scrunched up in annoyance. He still hugged the pillow ferociously when he lifted his head. “You said Vladimir Putin, and that made me laugh. Just thinking about that guy is fucking hilarious. His face is, like, made for memes.” 

“That’s true,” Michael said, heaving himself into an upright position to grab his lighter and a new blunt. The satisfying click sounded as the flame caught the end of the blunt, and Michael closed his eyes as he took a long drag. He held it in for as long as he could, then blew it out through his lips, watching the smoke disperse into the black of the basement ceiling. Jeremy made a gimme noise as he reached for the blunt. Michael pulled his hand away and raised his eyebrows, “Dude, you sure? It’s your first time, and you’re kinda gone already.” 

“Uuuuugghhh,” Jeremy threw himself back against the couch, his pillow friend discarded to the side. He then immediately threw himself forward again like a high-off-his-ass rag doll to toy forlornly with the Play Station controller sitting on the coffee table. He watched as the buttons he pressed randomly opened up the settings page on their forgotten game of Skyrim.

“Michael,” Jeremy said, still looking at the screen, “Michael, dude. I know I’m not as used to it as you, but that’s why I’m not worried, you know? Like, I know that you’ll keep me safe if I try to do something stupid, right?” Michael glanced over to Jeremy hunched over with the controller in his hand, eyes hazy with high, and thin lips parted slightly. 

“Yeah, man,” Michael said, taking another drag. After a few moments, he let it go. “I’ll keep you safe.”


	2. How to Get a Cadavre to School On Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauty is in the eye of the memeholder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy it nerds.

Michael woke up wanting to slap something. Not unlike most mornings. But unlike most mornings he sat scrunched between the coffee table and the couch, his legs folded toward his torso so that his shins jutted across out across the coffee table in a right angle from his knee like he'd been stuffed in a fucking trash can. Also unlike most mornings, he woke up with a Mr. Jeremy Heere’s head shoved into the tight space between Michael’s chest and knees. 

He wanted to slap something. Mostly himself. 

Jeremy’s face was turned upward, with his body slanting awkwardly down to the floor. His legs splayed out in the limited area between the couch and the table. One was pushed along the edge of the couch like it wished to sneak under, while the other had managed to dissent to the area under the coffee table in an uncomfortable looking bend. His eyes were still closed. His ears were fanned out from his head from being squished between Michael’s knees and chest, making him look like the monster from Goonies. His mouth was still open, allowing a steady stream of fermented morning breath to hit Michael directly in the face. God, he was beautiful. 

Michael’s heart jumped a bit when he though that. But it was true. Subjectively, at least. One man’s trash and all that. Not that Jeremy is trash. Michael thanked God that he wasn't talking out loud, and snatched his phone off the table to make Jeremy’s goonie face a Snapchat sticker. 

He continued to take increasingly close up pictures of Jeremy’s face until all that was visible was a pair of lips and a double chin. Jeremy jerked upward and bumped into Michael’s phone as he woke up with a, “Buh??” Michael captured the moment and saved it to his memories. “Good morning, starshine,” he sang to the bewildered Heere. Jeremy scrunched his eyes closed. His double chin intensified. “Who am I?” asked Jeremy. 

“Last time I checked you're Stacy Irvine, the teen girl who ate so many chicken nuggets she had to be rushed to the hospital.” Jeremy's eyes squint even more. “How do you know all these weird people?” Michael sighed and honked Jeremy’s nose. “Oh Jerebear,” he said mournfully, “Your meme game is so weak.”

Jeremy grunted in response and closed his eyes. After a few seconds he showed no further movement, making it obvious he was trying to go back to sleep. Michael grabbed both ears and tugged upward, “Oooh no. It's a school day and you're not getting a tardy slip on my watch.” Jeremy groaned as he was un-wedged from his makeshift head bed. He went slack for a moment, but finally conceded when he realized Michael wasn't gonna let go. He jerked upward into a sitting position and scooted so his back was against the couch before slumping onto Michael’s shoulder. “Fuck, I'm tired,” he said into his neck. Michael clucked his tongue sympathetically as he reached for his phone. The clock said 7:08, so they had about ten minutes to eat breakfast, get dressed, and drive to school. To hell with hygiene. Michael looked down at the comatose body leaning against him. “Alright, Heere,” he said, “Let's do this.” 

A frantic two minute montage ensued, consisting of Michael throwing a pair of jeans and clean underwear at Jeremy before grabbing two bags of Doritos and stuffing him into the passenger seat. They had just enough time to supersonic speed the fifteen minute drive to school by speeding in front of at least five commuters and cutting across the Costco parking lot. By the time Michael had parked and started jogging toward the main entrance with a slightly more alive Jeremy, the first bell had rung. The two boys joined the throng of students flowing thru the door. Jeremy held up his hand and Michael slapped it triumphantly. “Never again,” he said, giving a jaded look to the water fountain. “AKA, every other Tuesday and Thursday,” Michael chirped back.

Jeremy sighed, “Let's at least make it on Friday nights.” 

“But Jeremy,” Michael asked, “Where's the suspense? The drama? The exhilaration? I swear to God when I was cutting off that old lady on 5th street I felt like fucking Burt Reynolds.” Jeremy glared at him. 

“Who the fuck wants to feel like Burt Reynolds? He's bald.” 

“So’s Buddha, Jeremy,” Michael said sagely, “So’s Buddha."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck it took me a long time. I was really trying to force myself to make it longer so I'm not making you guys read a snippet every time but eh, here you go. Hopefully I can kinda get myself up and rolling with oh, you know, A PLOT.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaah!! Thanks for reading! Hope you guys liked it! And btw, in this fic, Michael, his mom and his family are Filipino. Although a decorative pillow with a picture of a dog with sunglasses is just about the whitest thing I've ever heard, so who knows. Her line, "Ano ang sheol," is supposed to mean, "What the hell." If any Filipinos or Tagalog speakers have any corrections/tips for me, I'd love to hear them! I'm gonna try to make this a multi chapter fic, but I don't know where the fuck I'm going with this so we'll see. Again, thanks for reading! Comment or kudos if you want; I'd love to hear from you guys!


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